


Help Me Stand (Even if the Sky is Falling)

by wakeupthenightmare



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bombing, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Is a Good Bro, Captain America: The First Avenger, Comfort Sex, Discussion of feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Hurt Steve, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sex, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, Top Bucky Barnes, Unresolved Romantic Tension, World War II, the Howling Commandos, war victims
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 05:31:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6787546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wakeupthenightmare/pseuds/wakeupthenightmare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve, Bucky, and the Howling Commandos come across a particularly devastating scene while travelling the French countryside on their way to a mission and Steve finally begins to bow under the weight of the war.<br/>True to Steve Rogers fashion, he attempts to ride it out alone rather than burden his friends. Bucky has other plans. Fluff, angst and bittersweet feelsy smut ensues.</p><p>or the one where Steve Rogers is our favourite self-sacrificing darling idiot trying to make it on his own and Bucky is still the one who has his back and reminds him he doesn't have to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Help Me Stand (Even if the Sky is Falling)

**Author's Note:**

> Some graphic depictions of war environments, in particular, mass graves and war victims being buried.  
> Only graphic for a paragraph or two but better safe than sorry.
> 
> List of songs I listened to in the end notes

_**Hold my hand,** _

_**I can hear the ghosts calling,** _

_**Help me stand,** _

_**Even if the sky is falling.** _

_**And I want you to know,** _

_**I can't do it alone...** _

_**Hold my hand.** _

 

 

 

* * *

 

Steve wasn't sure how long he'd been sat here in the gloom of this derelict house. He supposed it had been some time though from the way the rays of translucent silver moonlight had moved round from one wall to the other, slanting through the half-caved roof.

It was just one of many houses that had been destroyed in the bombing of this small town. Steve couldn't even remember the town's name, just the vague memory of a pretty, lilting French name that rolled pleasantly off the tongue.

The delicateness of it didn't fit this ruin.

It had been another long day in a longer week, and this day more so than others. An atrocity so bad that it had broken the dam Steve built against all the horrors of the war, and Steve had seen his fair share, from the moment he stepped out of that tank in Erskine's lab, fresh and fumbling around in his new body for only minutes before witnessing cold-blooded murder for the first time. The adrenaline and chase at the time had kept his mind from taking it in fully, but as soon as he'd slowed down and was sat giving pint after pint of super-serum blood, the shock had hit him full force.

He remembered bending over, expecting to throw up, but it was just an echo of his smaller body; his new body wouldn't allow for that weakness. His chest had heaved in breaths, not because he needed the air, not because he was fighting his own lungs from an asthma attack, but because his mind was still calibrating itself to this body. Still adjusting. So when the shock hit, the sound of the gunshot echoing in his ears, the sight of Erskine with blood blooming across his lab coat replaying in his head with all the force of a freight train, he automatically sought for the air like he used to have to after a similar blow. Granted this blow was more mental than physical, but as he said: still calibrating.

It's not as if he was a stranger to violence. Hell, he'd been on the receiving end of it since he got roughed up for the first time by some kids torturing a skinny stray cat. Steve was eight. And he hadn't been expecting it, but it didn't take him long to understand that when you spoke up for what was right, for what you believed in, people don't always take it nice-like.

Luckily he met Bucky not five minutes after he'd gone to check on the cat after getting a clumsy punch to the gut and pushed on the dirty floor. Bucky was only ten then, lanky and fresh-faced with a grin that you knew was real when you saw it reach his eyes too. Yes, lucky he met Bucky. He'd never admit it- Bucky was insufferable enough when it came to lecturing Steve on picking his battles- but Bucky had gotten him out of a fair few scrapes that Steve's pretty sure would have gotten ugly if the older, more savvy boy hadn't stepped in. That was the city for you, though. Steve loved Brooklyn, but it's not like crime and violence was a surprise there. But it's one thing to get jumped in an alley, and a whole other deal to see an innocent man get blown away two feet in front of you.

Steve shook his head, shaking the blurring images of red stained coats and hot dusty Brooklyn roads from his mind. It didn't do to dwell on death. It was one of the first things he learnt- a brutal but necessary lesson given the conditions of war. But god did he want to dwell sometimes.                                     

Just because he was in a place and had a job where atrocities had become the everyday, the unremarkable, even the mundane, didn't mean it didn't tear him up inside any less. Some days were worse than others... some days it was near unbearable.

Which brings him right back full circle to the present; sat in the darkest corner he could find, on a chair with it's splintered, jagged back, staring out at the floor of broken bricks and moulding carpet, wondering when he'd stop feeling like there was still blood caked on his hands.

They'd arrived in the afternoon. Him, Bucky, the Howling Commandos, all traipsing steadily and wearily down the dirt road to the closest town on their map for the night. They were making their way to a suspected Hydra camp in a larger French town that had been captured by the German's months ago, and were hoping to stay the night in a barn somewhere, hell even in a field with some tree cover, anything just to have as decent a meal and good night's sleep as possible.

They'd walked to the nearest town, and arrived at a graveyard.

It was still smoking in places, every now and then the brittle sound of crumbling brick and stone echoed through empty streets. Well, relatively empty. Rubble from the buildings was strewn across them, sometimes in arcing patterns, clearly from a direct hit from a bomb; in other places, it was simply piled higher than three men stood on each other's shoulders from buildings that had succumbed to the power of gunpowder and man. In some places, the street itself had huge chunks missing from the blasts, and the rest was potholed and chipped to extremes.

But that wasn't what had Steve heart-sick in the dark. Wasn't what had sent his mind reeling into the place where he forgot why what he was doing was worth something. Was worth _anything_.

No. It was the sight of row upon row of bodies laid out like fallen dominoes in a field just on the edge of the town, not even buried because the people who had survived were too few and too weak. And too heartbroken, no doubt.

They'd tried, it was clear they'd tried. There were a few mounds of freshly turned dirt, maybe twenty or so. But the sheer number of bodies was bad enough for a platoon of soldiers to deal with, let alone fifty or so injured and weakened village people mostly made up of women, young children and a handful of elders.

_Avoir une peur bleue_

Steve and the Howlies had been frozen, taking in the scene for what can only have been a minute or two, before they moved swiftly through the village, calling to whoever was left, taking stock of the situation and helping with the injured where possible. Gabe was brilliant as a translator, just listening and comforting as much as he could. Steve had always found his voice soothing, or not his voice so much as the surprising, innate calmness that he seemed to have held onto so far, despite all the horror and chaos he'd seen. And it came in handy now, when Steve had to try and help these people- had to try and give them some illusion, some small possibility for safety and protection.

He'd told Gabe to strongly suggest they move on with the Howling Commandos tomorrow. They'd take a small detour into the next town along, big enough to hopefully be able to house another fifty people, to escort the survivors there and then continue with their mission. Because there was nothing left for them here. It was especially cruel, he thought, for the German's to target this town, and so thoroughly and completely too. They'd destroyed the crop fields, the town hall and most of the small doctor's building. Nearly all of the houses had sustained damage, with about three-quarters of them being near enough to totally destroyed. The lack of living space and source for food would surely kill the rest of them if they stayed here.

Steve remembers when Gabe had slowly and gently explained all this to the petite French woman who'd taken on the role as spokesperson for the town. She was of an average height and too skinny for Steve's comfort, but there was strength in the way she held herself, authority in the way she spoke and held it together for the sake of the others. He could see the fear in her eyes, but it was overcome by the protectiveness and fierce, angry grief he also saw.

But even she had looked stricken and paled at the thought of leaving. At first, Steve had thought it was just because of the understandable fear of leaving their homes and everything they knew as if accepting everything they'd owned, everything they'd loved here was lost. Like they were turning their backs to their memories and hope of rebuilding from the ruin.

_Avoir une peur bleue_

But when she'd bitten her lower lip to stop it trembling and had spoken a flurry of words, choking on them every now and then with only grief on her face in that moment, and Gabe had translated, Steve knew it was going to be another dark day. The woman was refusing to leave without burying their dead. She'd told Gabe she'd die here herself burying them one by one before she'd leave them in the cold forever.

Gabe and Steve had shared a loaded look then. Steve asked him to explain to her he didn't think that was acceptable either, and that no one else was going to die here, not while he had breath. He asked him to tell her that he and the Howlies would bury their dead as best they could between them, and only those who were truly able to from their village would help.

She'd welled up at that, smiled sadly but, sort of, hopefully?

Steve knew it would be hard. He knew the guys were reaching their limit, wearing thin on sleep and rest in every sense, but he also knew he didn't have to ask them if this was something they'd be willing to do. He knew each and every one of them would gladly suffer through an afternoon of burying innocent strangers rather than ignore them and move on as they very well could do.

He was right. When he'd gathered them all up from their various resting places, they'd all nodded grimly but firmly, and together they'd walked to that field and took up the tools to bury eighty or so dead.

It was, as Steve expected, terrible.

Once he'd gotten a closer look at and better saw the state some of them were in, he refused the help of any of the villagers. They'd buried their own relatives and friends as a start, to deal with their own grief first before being able to cope with the grief of whole families being lost. 

_Avoir une peur bleue_

Steve told the French woman that unless any of them especially wanted to bury their own, to leave it to the Howlies. She'd pursed her lips and argued for a moment, but something in Steve's face must have convinced her to let this obligation go. To leave this to them. She insisted on marking the families at least so they could be buried together, but after that, she left them to their grim mission.

Some of the bodies were blackened and had missing limbs, in the worst cases. The charred flesh streaked through with gashes of red, raw flesh. And some of them were heartbreakingly small- just children. Even those that were intact and relatively unmarked were clearly starting to decay, the smell of decomposing bodies beginning to rise and saturate the air in a way that, once you smelt it, never really left you.

_Avoir une peur bleue_

It had taken all afternoon and several hours of the evening, but they'd managed it. The graves were shallower than normal, but there was only so much they could reasonably do, and they were still deep enough that the bodies wouldn't be disturbed where they rested, even with heavy rain.

When they left the field, they did so shoulder to shoulder. Even Dum-Dum was silent, the loss and devastation of the day subduing them all. Bucky had gripped Steve's shoulder at one point, leant into him as if reassuring himself that they were both still alive and walking. He'd looked Steve in the eyes, sad-soaked twinned blue burning right through him so that he felt like he was eight years old again, in that dusty alley wiping away blood from his lip, stunned and confused somewhat by a show of violence he couldn't understand.

**_Avoir une peur bleue_ **

Steve had to look away.

They were met in the village once more by a small group of women, waiting with bowls of hot food for them. They assured Gabe that they'd all eaten dinner themselves and had worked out enough food for breakfast and lunch tomorrow to last them to the next town; they also said that they wouldn't take no for an answer, and demanded they sit down and eat every last bit, despite all their protests that they should give it to the children and the weak. She'd replied fiercely that they pay their debts, and look after their own. She'd stared at Steve and dared him to argue in a way that made Peggy flash across his mind briefly, and he'd nodded and thanked her, sitting with the others to wolf down the decent meal of canned soup and crackers. They even had a bar of chocolate to share between them.

They'd split off soon after, close but with their own space to sleep, dotted around their small fire in a field at the opposite end to that other, grief-ridden one. They were sleeping in a medium sized barn; it was a little drafty where one of the doors were missing, but it was warm enough for what they were used to, and just the notion of a roof over their head was a greater comfort to them than they'd expected after the events of the day.

That was hours ago they'd laid down there, though. Steve had tossed and turned, listening to Dum-Dum's snores which usually soothed him to sleep, strangely, but tonight it felt like his skin was crawling. His feet _itched_ and his head was throbbing with the need to do something. To be somewhere else, somewhere darker...

So here he was. He could still just about see the small orange glow of the fire from the front of the house, but he didn't want it right now. He wanted the cooler tones of the moonlight. He wanted the way the rays broke on the jagged wooden edges of what was the upstairs floor like they were something solid. He wanted the damp coldness of his hidden corner and the gloom that somehow smothered the buzzing of death and blood and charred bodies and broken homes in his head. He wanted the silence that was so complete it seemed to hum in his ears so that the words of a frightened elder woman recounting her tale to Gabe no longer haunted him...

**_Avoir...une... peur... bleue_ **

He wanted to grieve. Though for what he wasn't sure- it wasn't just for the strangers he'd buried. He'd begun to have this creeping sensation over the past few weeks, like there was true grief yet to come, just lurking around the next curve of a map-line. The Commandos had been running with luck for months... One day soon, he was sure they were going to take a hit, and he felt in his bones- the beginning tendrils of fear like that the French woman had felt. Avoir une peur bleue she had whispered before leaving Steve and his men in the field with the dead. A blue fear, Gabe had explained later when Steve mentioned it.

A fear that terrified.

 

           -----------------------------------------------------------------

 

The sound of rocks crunching together snapped Steve to attention, body tense and on edge. When he looked up though, he relaxed, knowing every curve and sharp angle of the silhouette now ducking under the fallen beam of the doorway and making its way to the middle of the room.

"Well, I'd bet money on this being your patented moment of self-torment over other people's mistakes." the slow drawl was like a balm to Steve's frayed nerves. It was too familiar to be anything else but a comfort.

"And I'd bet money on this being your usual attempt to cheer me up by poking fun at me." Steve replied, watching as the moonlight uncovered just a hint of lips shifting into a smile and a stubbled chin on an otherwise shadow-hidden form.

"Is it working?" Steve could hear the attempt at a teasing tone.

"Not this time, Buck." Steve said quietly.

"Thought not." 

"I just... wanted to be alone for a bit." Steve said slowly, trying to ignore the urge to go on the defensive. Like he wasn't allowed to fall apart in the dark. Not the fearless leader of the Howlies. _Captain America_...

"No, you don't."

Steve bristled. "Quit it, Bucky. Don't try that reverse psychology stuff on me. I can damn well be alone if I want to." Steve snapped.

Bucky moved forward a few steps into the half-moonlit area beneath the absent floorboards. "Sure, you _can_ , but like I said... that's not what you really want, Steve."

Steve stood up suddenly, sucking in indignant breaths. "God _damn it,_ Bucky! You know me better than anyone but that doesn't mean you get to tell me what it is I want or need!" Steve gripped at his hair in an effort to calm down and lower his voice. He knew he was overreacting, knew he was latching onto this small thing as an excuse to vent, taking out his grief and anger and frustrations on Bucky. He knew Bucky was just trying to be there for him, like always. But it was like watching a train crash, you can't do anything, you know it's going to end in chaos and tears but you can't look away; like that, Steve was helpless against his own emotions and could only watch as he hit the destruct button.

When he got no response though, and Bucky only looked on at him, perfectly calm, with a tight-lipped expression, he glared before turning around to punch the wall or something. _Anything_ , so that it wouldn't be Bucky's face.

He flipped the chair he'd been sat on instead, caught up in the blood rushing through his arms, caught up in the need to _hurt_ for once, to shift the pain from himself, his strength unchecked. But when the red haze faded, satiated by the crash of wood against the brick wall and the subsequent clattering of the shards against the floor, Steve's anger abandoned him and he was gripped by a dawning horror.

"No..." he  choked out, air rushing out of his lungs like a pierced balloon, staring at the now truly irreparable scraps of the chair that had once sat at a dining table in this room. At someone's dining table. In this house where someone's _family_ had lived. Before they'd been blown sky high.

Steve dropped to his knees heavily, trembling hands seeking out the broken pieces of the chair _he'd_ just wrecked. Barely a few hours ago he'd buried entire families, charred and broken, and here he was destroying their last few possessions that were still standing, out of petty frustration.

Steve felt sick.

It wasn't until he felt a strong hand grip his shoulder that he came back to himself enough to realise he was crying now. And not just silently. He sounded a little like he was twelve again, experiencing an asthma attack in the middle of the park and searching his pockets frantically, only to realise he must have lost his inhaler during that scuffle with the usual group of schoolyard bullies at lunch.

His chest was heaving as though he couldn't get in the air, though this time it wasn't because his own lungs were trying to choke him, it was just his guilt and grief that he imagined was clogging his throat now. With every other breath he managed to take in, he lost another on a deep, choking sob that sent tremors from his shoulders down to the base of his spine.

"Steve, c'mon, you gotta breathe." Bucky's hand moved from his shoulder to in between his shoulder blades, rubbing small circles into the shuddering muscle there.

Steve shook his head, half at Bucky's words- _can't, not enough air_ \- and half in denial at his shaking hands now full of splintered mahogany.

"Hey, _hey!_ Stevie- _look at me_." Bucky pushed gently at one of Steve's shoulders so that he swayed and ended up sitting rather than kneeling, now facing away from the corner and into Bucky's blue eyes, filled with concern.

"Don't, Buck... just..." Steve wrung the words out in between the sobs, too ashamed to hold Bucky's gaze more than a few seconds.

"Jesus, Stevie. Why you gotta always get on the defence so quick, huh?" Bucky muttered and sat down awkwardly next to Steve, wincing at the sharp ground. He put a hand on the back of Steve's neck and tugged him forward, toward his shoulder, insistently. Steve resisted at first, but then he let himself be pulled into Bucky's chest, his head tucked just under Bucky's chin, right near his heart.

"I'm not saying you can't have some alone time, and I definitely won't pretend to know everything that goes on inside that head of yours. But I _do_ know you, and I know that you don't really wanna be alone right now. You just think you _should_ be. Damn martyr, burning alone even though there's a whole crowd with you."

Steve tried to pull away from Bucky's words more than the man himself. Bucky's hold on his neck tightened though, and his other hand gripped at one of Steve's knees to keep him in place. They both knew Steve could break out of it if he really wanted to. But still, Steve stayed folded uncomfortably under Bucky's chin. And that sent its own stab of irrational sadness through him- that he no longer fit next to Bucky's body like the one other time they'd sat like this, the night Steve's mother died. The crazy longing to be small again, just for a moment, sent Steve into a bought of near-hysterical laughter which petered off into small sobs that Steve tried to swallow down.

Bucky was tense and Steve knew it was because he'd never reacted to anything like this before, except for when his Ma died, God rest her soul... he didn't shed a tear even when Danny Rowen beat him half to death.

"Come on now, Steve, you're scarin' me."

Steve laughed hollowly and didn't care that that probably wasn't the response Bucky was looking for.

"That- that's exactly what I didn't want to happen, Buck. That's why I had to be alone. "

"You really are an idiot. You scared me half to death enough times back in Brooklyn when I'd find you beat to hell in yet another dodgy alley and you didn't seem to mind it so much then. I was waiting for the day when you'd finally stand up too much and get knocked down for _good_." Bucky's voice twisted with sombreness at the end and Steve felt a stab of guilt.

"You've been looking out for me too long, Buck." Steve murmured, close to Bucky's skin, separated by just a thin shirt, dirty with sweat and mud and a bonfire smell... and yet there was still a familiar smudge of pure 'Bucky' underneath it all. If he closed his eyes and tried real hard he could almost imagine himself back to when they were just a couple of kids, curled close on sofa cushions.  Steve hated how his heart gave a yearning lurch. They couldn't be that close anymore, not without the excuse of innocence that comes with childhood.

"I plan on looking out for your dumb ass a lot longer too, so do me a favour, stop thinking you have to suffer alone just because you lead the team. You might be Captain America now, but you're still my old friend, and _human_. We all are. And we _all_ have our moments."

"You've been through worse." Steve muttered, gut twisting at the thought of Bucky strapped to that table and the litany of _ohgodnohe'sdeadpleasepleasenodon'tbedead_  that ran through his mind.

"Steve, it isn't a competition." Bucky pulled Steve away from his chest just enough to nudge his head up and look him in the eyes. "I've had my fair share of shit and so have you. It's time for you to just take a breath and let it out for once. I did when we got back to camp, after Zola's..." he swallowed the words.

Steve avoided Bucky's eyes by looking anywhere but there. Looking elsewhere wasn't being much help either, though, because every other point of Bucky's face his gaze lingered on, his fingers wanted to follow. He so desperately wanted to touch. To feel. To have the familiar as something tangible beneath his skin- let alone his _other_ reasons for wanting to touch Bucky...

He thought of the path he'd take with his fingers to take his mind away for a second. First, the concerned furrow of Bucky's brow, the scrunched skin at the top of his nose. Down the smooth ridge of his nose. Tracing the circle of his eyes, where blue rings are barely visible around the widened pupils, thanks to the gloom, then across the bruise-like shadows beneath his eyes from constant lack of sleep. Over the high cut of his cheekbones, sharper thanks to army rations, and down to trace the straight lines of his strong, square jaw... And finally, Steve's fingers would finish their path with a thumb pressed into the dimple of his chin. The stubble was strange when most of his memories Bucky was smooth and-

"You okay there, Stevie?"

Bucky's voice broke the illusion, only for Steve to realise his hand _was actually hovering beneath Bucky's chin_. With a feeling like cold water being dumped over his back, he jerked back a little, realising at some point he really had physically reached out and traced the lines of Bucky's face he'd been imagining.

"I..." he fumbled for words, panicking. "Sorry... I was thinking about when we- we were little... you're the only real thing I've got out here, Bucky. Even my body's different, and it feels like I'm dreaming some days. Like I'll wake up back in Brooklyn, and you..." Steve swallowed thickly, "You're here on your own. Still in that place, or worse."

"S'alright, Steve. I'm real, don't worry about that much." Bucky spoke carefully as if Steve was a frightened animal who could bolt at any moment. He supposed it was a fair analogy.

Steve tried to feel what kind of expression was on his own face, but he just felt a numb, blankness. Perhaps there was something in his eyes, though, because Bucky was still watching Steve with barely veiled worry, and something else hidden further behind his eyes. Something frustrated and... deliberating?

Just as Steve was about to look away from the intensity of Bucky's gaze, he felt calloused fingers hold his chin in place, a light press against his jaw.

Steve's gaze snapped back to Bucky's. Steve could feel his eyes were widened in confusion and alarm, and a little bit of cautious hope that he tried to crush beneath a mental boot.

"Bucky, wha-what-" Steve stumbled over the words, he was trembling so hard from the electric feel of Bucky's hands on him, so close.

"Shh," Bucky hushed him quietly, "I don't want you to hide away from me ever again, Steve. We're in this together, like we always have been, remember? 'Til the end of the line, pal."

Steve felt the whispered oath like a lifeline for his tired mind. Like he was drowning in his thoughts and Bucky was throwing him a rope. He felt the truth of it deep within his bones, always. Bucky may not belong to Steve in every way that he'd want, but Steve knew he sure as hell belonged to Bucky. Every inch of him reached out to this beautiful, cocksure man in front him.

They were cut from the same cloth. Bucky was a reflection of Steve's soul- all the goodness Steve had, just wrapped up in better packaging, all charming smiles, and quiet but self-assured muscle ready for the fight without any help from the outside. Okay, so maybe Bucky was less a reflection and more like a parallel. Cut from the same patchwork cloth, just from different materials.

Either way, Steve had always felt a pull towards Bucky that went beyond the hero-worship of an older brother, or the close-knit bonds of a best friend that were even stronger, knowing you had someone you trusted that much who wasn't blood family, but family all the same. Steve had wanted Bucky for so long in every way possible, but he had never before entertained the idea that he could have that final part. Bucky's devotion and love as a partner, a lover.

He'd kept that desire hidden away so deep in hopes it would never be able to destroy his heart by taking root in fruitless hope. He'd fought viciously against assholes on the street who accused him of being a 'fairy', a 'pansy', an overall poor excuse for a man, all with the background fear of someone realising just how close to the truth their taunts were.

Steve had always debated with himself over his feelings for Bucky. Surrounded by a world that said it was wrong, but he couldn't imagine how loving someone as innately _good_ as Bucky could ever be wrong. What kind of God would punish Steve for loving someone different to everyone else, but would sit by and watch the atrocities of this war happen? It was confusing, and even if he wasn't ashamed of his feelings, he wouldn't ever subject Bucky to the danger accompanying them, and so he buried them deep.

But as Bucky's forefinger traced just underneath Steve's bottom lip, he felt it surge dangerously close to the surface.

"'Til the end of the line." Steve agreed, barely speaking the words. As his lips moved, they brushed against Bucky's fingers. Steve shivered slightly and Bucky's eyes flicked to Steve's shoulders when he noticed the slight movement, before looking back into his face again, the ghost of an old smirk on his face.

"Heaven help me if I'm readin' this all wrong." he muttered. Then he was closing those last few inches between his face and Steve's.

Bucky's lips pressed against Steve's with all the feel of a soldier going over the top of a trench: desperately, terrifyingly, into the unknown.

His lips were slightly chapped, but when Steve automatically started pressing back, he could feel a softer, raw patch where Bucky had obviously bitten on it. It was a habit Steve knew well, and he could almost cry for this one tiny familiarity he was finally allowed closer to than he'd ever been before.

Bucky shifted and turned his head slightly so that now it wasn't just a cautious first advance of lips pressed together, but an attempt to move with Steve, heads tilted opposite ways to fit together better.

Bucky was still holding onto Steve's chin, though his grip was harder now, so much that it was bordering on painful, as though he was frightened Steve was going to float away or dissolve into thin air if he let go. Steve didn't mind. He was afraid of that too.

When Bucky's tongue tentatively traced Steve's bottom lip for the first time, Steve couldn't help the half cry, half choked back sob that bubbled up from his chest.

It seemed to break the spell of awe and disbelief surrounding them, because, after hearing it, the kiss grew a little frantic. Bucky's other hand dropped down to Steve's leg, mid-thigh, and anchored him truly in place. Steve moved his hands in turn, one hooked under Bucky's arm that was holding Steve's chin, to grab at his shoulder blade, while the other wound its way round his neck to grip at the soft strands of Bucky's hair.

Bucky groaned lightly and Steve's heart thumped in glee to hear that sound coming from him, because of _him_. Steve was the one here with Bucky now. No well-dressed girls with pristine clothes and perfected hair. Steve found with some relief that he couldn't even picture one of Bucky's usual female companions. He wouldn't be haunted by his past jealous, bitter memories because they wouldn't fit in this place of dereliction and destruction.

It was just Steve and Bucky. They had earned the toughened skin to withstand this brand of hell- they'd faced true horrors and made it out the other side, and it gave them what they needed to _keep on_ facing them.

Steve could feel the specks of grit and debris that had managed to cling to Bucky's scalp, no matter how many rivers he washed it in. Steve could smell the sharp scent of gunpowder and smoke that every soldier seemed to wear, that was a constant background now to all other smells. Steve could feel the patched up hole in Bucky's shirt at the back where he'd torn it taking it off a tree branch it had been drying on. He'd pouted outrageously for a grown man, a soldier no less, and Steve had laughed but patched it up for him later while he slept, knowing the brunette couldn't sew to save his life. Bucky had sulked for a week as Morita and Dum-Dum teased him mercilessly for Steve having to do all his repairs.

 _"Hey, it's our status quo, you jerks. I patch up his face whenever he gets whaled on and he patches up my clothes. You're just jealous Dugan that my seamstress does better repairs than you can."_ Bucky had eventually teased back and just grinned when Steve threw a boot at him across the campfire in indignation.

 _"'M only teasin', Stevie."_ and Steve would take one look at his stupid mischievous grin and his blue eyes and forgive him even though Steve had mouthed angrily back at guys back in Brooklyn for making similar jibes to Steve to try and emasculate him, thanks to his size and 'effeminate' features.

Bucky's fingers holding Steve's chin loosened slightly, and his thumb rubbed apologetically over the area he'd gripped a little too hard. He coaxed Steve's mouth open a little more, and when Steve obliged, Bucky's tongue traced his bottom before reaching further just a little to press against Steve's.

Steve had hardly any practice with this type of kissing. That pushy blonde woman Peggy rescued him from had just about tried to kiss him like this, but it was awkward and unpleasant from the surprise. Well, that and the whole in-love-with-your-best-friend thing.

But this was _Bucky._ Steve knew him better than he felt he knew himself. He was safe, and comfortable here...

Steve tried to mimic Bucky's movements. He tasted of cigarettes and every now and then Steve was sure he tasted the trace of salt from the crackers at dinner.

They broke apart for bare seconds to breath, and the absence of Bucky's lips felt alarming. When their lips met once more, kissing hungrily at each other, the sudden urge to bite down on Bucky's lip overcame Steve. He nipped the lower lip without thinking it through.

"Agh..." Bucky gasped  out the tiniest cry, from surprise more than the small sting of pain from Steve's incisors.

His eyes were widened in surprise, one finger feeling at the spot where Steve had bitten, and Steve jerked away from him in embarrassment. He felt a blush stain his cheeks and throat, an annoying trait that the serum didn't fix.

"Oh, crap... Bucky I'm sorry, I-" Steve began to stutter, but Bucky effectively shut him up when he leant back in again and crashed their lips together with very little finesse, but a lot of passion and intensity. Before Steve could respond though, Bucky had pulled away again to look at him, a smug grin plastered across his face.

"Well, well. Looks like little Stevie Rogers is a bit of a wildcat." his toothy smile seemed to light up the darkness of their corner for a moment, like sheet lightning across dark clouds. And Steve swatted lightly at him, still dazed.

"Shut up, Buck, I weren't thinkin'." he grumbled.

"As usual then."

"Bucky!"

Bucky laughed and held his hands up in a quick fire sign of peace.

Steve tried to glare at him defiantly, but gave up after a few seconds, and his lips twitched up in an answering smile.

Of course, that was the moment the sound of crumbling rumbled out of the darkness in the corner by the front door. It felt like the entire room held its breath for a moment, but then an even bigger rumble occurred, and the top of the fractured wall on the handle-side of the door frame broke apart just a little more. Red brick chunks bounced down to the floor, followed by the swishing sound of smaller shards and ground up cement falling like sand.

There was a tangible silence afterwards, and Steve felt the guilt  and sadness slap him in the face again. How could he and Bucky joke around in the remains of, what is now, basically a tomb?

Steve saw Bucky turn back sharply to look at him when he lowered his head a little.

"Oh no, no you don't, don't you try and do that again, Steve." Bucky snapped.

Steve looked up, a little hurt at Bucky's harsh tone.

The brunette's eyes narrowed a little, calculating something, before he pushed up and away from the ground with a fluid grace that Steve still hadn't managed with or without the serum.

"Get up." Bucky ordered and Steve felt a small part of him bristle.

"Buck..." Steve began to protest.

" _Now,_ Rogers. Or you gonna order me away on my own after what we just did? You going to use this" Bucky opened his arms, gesturing to the sad ruins around them, "as an excuse to run away from the one good thing to come out of this godforsaken war?"

Steve openly glared now. Bucky was playing hardball, playing the card that went against Steve's entire being. He wasn't a coward. He _wasn't_. He didn't want to run away from Bucky, in fact, he wanted to run _towards_ him. But he felt guilty that he was potentially about to get everything he wanted in a place filled with people who had lost everything.

And, he was terrified. This was unknown territory. He had so much to gain but he also had a hell of a lot more to lose if they went down this path. And all the while he still had that insidious voice whispering that they were all going to suffer, real soon. _Can't stay lucky forever. The Commandos can't escape the grief of war._

Steve shuddered and looked imploringly to Bucky, though for what he wasn't sure.

Bucky sighed and looked back in understanding. But he also looked at Steve in a way that told him he wasn't going to let him sit alone in the dark any longer. They'd opened a door here, and it wouldn't be closed again. It was time for them to walk through and hope they came out intact, together on the other side.

"Okay," Steve nodded, "okay..." Bucky reached out to grab Steve's hand and helped haul him up off the hard ground. His blood fizzed when, instead of letting go, Bucky used his hold on Steve to pull him a few steps closer until they were almost toe to toe. He squeezed Steve's hand lightly in reassurance, his thumb stroking over the knuckles.

Eventually, Bucky smiled crookedly, breaking Steve from his trance, before turning around, slowly, and walking out of the gaping hole in the wall near the door that was the only way in or out of the house.

Steve followed with light but leaden footsteps, and paused halfway through the exit, his hand gripping the rough, jagged edge of the broken wall. He turned back briefly, looking towards the dark corner that felt like it would always hold a piece of him. He saw the faded rays of the moonlight swallowed up by the darkness now that he was further away, and fancied that, if the rest of the house fell down, it would be a poetic kind of grave for the piece of his heart he'd shed in this quiet place.

When he finally turned away, the sight of Bucky made his breath catch in his throat.

He was beautiful in the moonlight. Ethereal almost.

Out in the open, the moonlight lacked the solid look of singular rays, and became liquid-like, washing over everything and bathing it in translucent, milky light. It turned the top of Bucky's hair and the right side of his body white, so that it seemed the lines that made up the edges of his body were faded, almost nonexistent, until he seemed to blend into the backdrop of the ruined houses.

Suddenly Steve understood the wild stories that kept cropping up, of soldiers who claimed to have seen spirits on the battlefield, helping them to victory. Right now, Bucky felt like one of those mirage-like spirits, an untouchable warhead that spurred Steve's entire reason for carrying on fighting. It sounds a little dramatic in his head but here, when he's purely _looking_ , it's easy to let his imagination run wild.

"You gonna stand there and stare all night, Rogers? Get your ass movin'." Bucky smiled teasingly at him and started walking briskly down the street, pausing to navigate the more ruined parts of the road.

Steve hurried to catch up to him until he was only a pace away, keeping a careful distance now that they're out in the open, though he ached to lean forward and put a hand on the back of Bucky's neck.

"Where are we going anyway?" Steve murmured.

"Somewhere more private, and a little safer than a crumbling house. You might survive it but you're already stupid enough without concussion as well."

Steve cuffed him lightly, lighter even than he'd done before the serum. It was still funny to have to remind himself how breakable other people were to him now, or rather, how dangerous his strength could be to others.

Bucky just chuckled unrepentantly and continued leading Steve down the main street. They were only walking a few more minutes before Bucky veered to the left and looked at the houses more closely. Steve got closer and heard him muttering something under his breath that sounded like 'number 32, red door'. It made sense when Bucky finished his searching gaze and started walking to a house a few paces away- one with a red door and a brass number '3'  on it. The '2' was missing, but had left a faint, worn impression where it used to sit, Steve saw upon getting closer.

"Bucky, what are we doing here?" Steve asked nervously. He didn't like the feel of this street further away from the Howlies and the remaining village people, who were staying in intact houses on the other end of the street, nearer to the other field of fresh graves... Steve supposed they wanted to stay as close as possible before they had to leave for what could still be years until the village could even attempt to be rebuilt.

But here, here there was only this house and 2 others that seemed strangely intact, considering the rest of the houses in this part of the village- right in the centre between the two fields- had the worst damage inflicted. The rubble towered in massive piles on either side of the houses still standing and cast long shadows on the ground that seemed to be reaching for Steve. They were the type of shadows that seemed to move in your periphery whenever you weren't looking directly at them. Steve knew it was all in his head, lack of sleep not helping, but it's hard to tell himself that, especially after a day like they'd had.

"We're staying here for the night. Marie's lent it to you for tonight. She told Gabe just before dinner, but you'd already gone to sleep in the barn by the time Gabe remembered after eating. Or, well, they thought you'd gotten to sleep. I wasn't convinced." Bucky rambled and opened the door carefully, with a sombre respect almost palpable.

"I can't stay here." Steve said though the words came out sounding slightly strangled.

Bucky frowned, "Steve..."

"No, Buck. This is her house. It belongs to her and her family- it just doesn't feel right. The townspeople should be sleeping here."

"You don't think I told her all that? Well, you know, Gabe told her, I can't speak French without butchering it."

"Buck."

"Steve, she didn't want it. She said that one, she wants to stay with all the others, and these three houses aren't enough to house the whole group compared to the seven down the other end that are more than enough. Second, she..." Bucky huffed out a breath, face darkening for a second.

"Second, she said she was in this house when the bombings happened. She'd sent her little girl down the road to get some bread, they were going to have lunch, with their saved rations of jam and everything... anyway, the bombs hit and Marie didn't even have time to look for her. Afterwards, she found her body in the road, killed by a large chunk of debris falling on her." Bucky finished and clenched his jaw.

Steve felt sick. "That's awful." He croaked out.

"Yeah... yeah, it is." Bucky nodded slowly, looking a little distressed, and Steve thought  he'd go wherever Bucky wanted so long as it took that look of his face. "The point is, she said she'd sooner sleep in that field than step back in this house ever again. She said that, without her family, it may as well be an empty tomb. Like burying an empty coffin, s'just full of memories of everything the war has taken from her. Her husband was reported killed in action a few months back."

Steve winced and said quietly, "She's even stronger than I thought. Carrying on like she is, holding the whole town together."

"Yeah, guess some people are just born leaders, no matter how much pain they have themselves." Something in Bucky's voice made Steve focus back in on him. Bucky was looking at him pointedly, one dark eyebrow raised in mild amusement.

Steve huffed out a laugh but ended up grimacing slightly. "You're not gonna let this go, are you?"

"Nope." Bucky said simply and walked through the doorway, where he was swiftly swallowed up by the dark interior.

Steve hesitated and deliberated for a while before deciding he'd better follow just to make sure Bucky didn't trip over in the dark and break his neck or something... the man had grace with every movement, but he still had an uncanny ability to have extreme klutzy moments.

Once Steve was inside, he heard the sounds of a match striking to his right and startled slightly, just as light flickered and bloomed into existence. He closed the door behind him and followed the glow into what seemed to be the kitchen area. Bucky was stood by the sink where several candles in holders stood, looking triumphantly at a now afire candle.

"Marie told me where to find them." he explained.

"Right." Steve acknowledged then walked forwards to help Bucky light two more, just enough to light up a bedroom, he supposed...

A bedroom.

A bedroom he was staying in.

With Bucky.

Steve swallowed suddenly, feeling a blush threaten to appear, while his heart thumped furiously and his stomach roiled in a mix of pleasure, nerves, excitement and trepidation.

Bucky cottoned on to something and looked up at Steve, two candles in his hand.

"You alright, Stevie?"

"Yeah, I... I'm fine."

Bucky gave him a withering look that said _yeah, right._

"Look, I know you feel bad about being here, but Marie honestly had this look on her face, like she hoped you'd stay here? She wouldn't stop thanking us for what we did, and she'd rather some of us make use of an actual bed here than it sit here like some kind of memorial."

"I know," Steve sighed and fidgeted, "but why didn't they offer the houses next door to the guys?"

"Her and another lady did, but the guys seemed to genuinely prefer the idea of the barn. Said that hay was soft enough- anything else and they wouldn't be able to sleep." Bucky and Steve looked at each other in wry understanding at that last part.

"Besides," Bucky added, "they were pretty excited about sleeping with a fire." he started walking in the direction of the stairs and Steve followed, deep in thought.

Usually, while camping, the Howlies couldn't have a fire, or if they did, they certainly couldn't leave one burning as they slept. It was too easy to spot in the darkness, and enemies could gain their position quickly once night time fell. The Howlies, particularly Gabe and Falsworth, had often lamented the fact. Fire offered a surprisingly great comfort when you're in a small group in enemy territory, surrounded by constant danger, with poor living conditions. It held a promise of dry socks and warm food, of a barrier against the cold and the dark.

Even these candles had managed to soothe Steve, unconsciously. His shoulders were less tense, and the flicker of the flame made him feel like he was surrounded by a protective bubble, that even the darkest shadows couldn't touch.

At the top of the stairs, Bucky led them to a room at the end of the short hallway, which was clearly the master bedroom. Steve shut the door behind him to keep in the warmth and set his candle down on a dresser. While Bucky put down the other two, Steve scanned the room.

Although intact, as expected, the house hadn't gone undisturbed by the bombings. The shelves were empty of belongings as they had clearly been jolted from the shelves during the blasts. There were books splayed open from their fall, amongst other homely titbits- the shattered remains of ornaments, a ball of yarn here, a brightly coloured trinket box still closed there... Steve's eyes alighted on what looked like a sketchpad open to a drawing of a handsome-looking man, and he hesitated briefly before inspecting it closer. In the candlelight, he saw dozens upon dozens of sketches of the same man. In some he was joined by a young girl with long hair, that was so detailed, Steve could see that some strands were knotted slightly from where it billowed out behind her as she ran into the man's arms.

He was wearing a uniform. Marie's husband, Steve guessed.

Steve suddenly felt rude and intrusive for looking at this woman's- admittedly beautiful- but private sketches. He closed the book and set it flat down on a shelf, then weighed it down with a random book so that it wouldn't be budged unless the entire house came down around it. For some reason, it felt important not to leave it in a broken, distressed state on the floor.

When Steve turned round, he saw Bucky with his boots and socks off, the latter drying on the back of a chair by a vanity mirror, hands in his pockets, looking at Steve a little sadly. Exhaustion was plain on his face, but overriding that was a look of clear relief and anticipation of sleeping in an actual bed.

"Pass me your wools, I'll set 'em next to mine. Be nice to have them dry for once." Bucky smiled genuinely at the mere idea of dry socks, and Steve found his lips pulling up into an answering smile.

After he'd removed his boots and handed Bucky his socks, Steve looked at the pristine, pale peach sheets and blanched a bit. The Howlies had managed a half-decent wash after the day's toils at a stream just out of town (the waterlines were bust), but they were still far from clean, in a civilised setting anyway. By soldier standards, they were pretty immaculate. But Steve hated the idea of marking Marie's sheets, whether she was coming back for them or not.

"We'll take the throw and pillows off." Bucky said nonchalantly, as though he wasn't reading Steve like a book and trying to ease his conscience.

Steve nodded and together they moved the delicately sewn, frilled decorative pillows from the top of the bed, then folded up the thick throw and put them all carefully in place on the small chest at the end of the bed.

For a minute they just looked at each other, aware they were both treading the edge of a precipice, skirting around the fall on their tiptoes. They wanted to have the courage to jump, but their usual surplus of foolish bravery was exhausted.

Bucky cleared his throat a little, and it made Steve feel a little better to know that Bucky was a little nervous too, despite being the one to take the first leap in that broken corner...

"Maybe we should sleep without shirts? We won't need them, not with you, the inhuman radiator, and an actual quilt." Bucky was back to teasing him again and it eased the lingering tension in Steve's body.

God, he felt coiled like a spring, ready to shoot away, bouncing off the walls unpredictably if given the slightest nudge.

"Yeah, good idea." Steve's voice may have been a little higher than normal, and Bucky may have chuckled lowly at that, but Steve chose to ignore it and pretend he still had even a chance to be smooth about this.

As Steve pulled his creased and worn uniform over his head, he felt Bucky's eyes on him. Steve's ears grew hot and he could feel a blush work its way down his throat and across his chest.

Bucky openly laughed at that, delighted, and Steve flicked a glance over at him, seeing that Bucky hadn't even made an attempt to undress.

"You gettin' shy on me, Stevie?" Bucky grinned like the Cheshire Cat from one of Steve's favourite childhood books. "I love that you still blush like that."

Steve threw him a sour look and quickly got beneath the covers, escaping Bucky's gaze.

"Shuddup, Barnes, and get in here quick before I decide to just kick you outta here." Steve grumbled and Bucky just grinned wider, reaching for the hem of his shirt slowly.

Steve held his breath as the scars that littered Bucky's torso were revealed. They were all newly gained since leaving Brooklyn, and still angered Steve. He _hated_ the idea of anything hurting Bucky, and he especially hated that most of them came from that godforsaken table in Zola's lab...

Steve swears, if he ever gets his hands on that man... well, Zola had just better hope that Erskine's faith in Steve's goodness wasn't misplaced. Steve wasn't so sure he was above vengeance when it came to Bucky. Bucky was everything- friend, brother in arms, family, lover... If only Steve had gotten to him sooner rather than prancing about miserably on the Army's stage for as long as he did, he could have saved Bucky a lot of suffering.

He still saw the haunted look that took over Bucky every now and then. The way surprise metallic sounds made him flinch. Steve had never pressed for details from Bucky's time there, and he never would. He was sure Bucky would tell him in time.

But even with the scars, Bucky was undeniably beautiful. Hell, even with the added strains of the war he was annoyingly handsome. Somehow, on meagre rations, under extreme stress with shitty living conditions, Bucky had somehow stubbornly held onto most of his muscle mass, only looking a little thinner in the torso, his stomach even flatter than it was. He had the barest covering of hair, smattered evenly on the middle of his chest, between and across his pecs. Just enough that Steve wanted to know how it would feel against his skin. In the candlelight, the shadows of his body looked more pronounced, the parts the light touched looked like burnished brass under the orange flames.

Yes, Bucky was beautiful.

He didn't say anything as Steve made his observations, eyes roaming greedily over every inch of his torso, his waist, the top of his hips... in fact, Bucky looked a little afraid, closed off under the scrutiny. What was he afraid of? Did he think Steve would take one look at the scars and run? Was he insane?

Steve held out his arms and whispered, "C'mere, Buck. Time to rest."

Bucky's shoulders sagged as if the reminder from Steve had brought his body back to the very present weight of sheer _exhaustion_. He lifted the sheet and scooted into the bed until he was rolled onto his side, facing Steve.

They didn't say anything for a while, overwhelmed by the feel of an actual mattress that moulded to fit their shape, rather than the hard ground that demanded it the other way around.

Eventually, Bucky reached out a finger and traced the edges of Steve's face so carefully that it reminded Steve of his pre-serum days, like he was breakable still, just emotionally now rather than physically. Bucky had touched him similarly for weeks after a bought of pneumonia had almost killed Steve.

Steve didn't want to break, though, he wanted to stay strong for Bucky, the Howlies, hell the entire US army. Bucky didn't seem to want to let him work it out alone though, and in a way Steve was glad. If Bucky had left him to self-destruct, they wouldn't be here, now, on the cusp of something new and heart-wrenchingly _happy_.

"Sleep, Steve."  Bucky murmured, so close Steve felt the warmth of his breath on his cheek.

"I don't think I can."

"Maybe you just need a reminder." Bucky said gently. Steve looked at him blankly for a moment until Bucky sat up, leaning on his elbows and rolling to lean over Steve. His hair was slightly longer from weeks of them barely having a break to _breathe_ let alone cut their hair, and now it flopped over his forehead a little, almost reaching his eyes.

"A reminder of everything it is we're fighting for." Bucky said, his mouth frowning slightly, though his eyes were bright and searching Steve's, though for what he had no clue.

Steve swallowed thickly and found himself squirming internally at just how easily Bucky understood him. Understood what he was feeling.

"I thought I knew. But we've been fighting so long and all I seem to be doing is evening out the body count. When will it _end,_ Buck? These people..." Steve shook his head, eyes tearing up a little again, Christ. "They didn't do anything to deserve this."

"I know, Stevie, I know." And he did, Steve knew, the look on Bucky's face held the same look of grief and helpless anger that Steve felt. But Bucky didn't let it stop him, not like Steve did... Bucky was smart, streetwise, made of stronger stuff. He always had been. He was being smart every time he used to tell Steve to pick his battles, when they were younger, when Steve just didn't understand _how._  He could never understand the acceptance of injustice in any form.

Bucky understood, though. He didn't _like_ it, but he knew that sometimes bad things just happened to good people. Sometimes, the world came up with new ways to destroy itself and the rest of us had to either roll over and give in or fight. Bucky chose to fight, like Steve. But unlike Steve, he knew not to open the can of worms that was the question: why? Why did it get to this point where-

"Steve, you with me? Come back to me, focus." Bucky's hushed order broke through the roiling, savage waves of Steve's psyche and his eyes snapped back to Bucky's blue like they were the anchor to Steve's safety rope. He may wander away from time to time, but he'd always find his way back here, with Bucky.

"There you are." Bucky smiled. "I want you to listen to me, Steve." He ran his nose along the line of Steve's jaw, the shiver of excitement that lit up Steve's nerves hit him like the kickback of a gun.

"You've saved so many lives during this bullshit war, hell even before the war, when you were ninety pounds of nothin' much but bones. You've just forgotten." Bucky placed a couple of light kisses on Steve's neck and Steve gripped at Bucky's slim waist, needing something to ground himself amongst the lightheaded-ness of Bucky's touch.

"Summer of 28. Some kids were throwin' stones at old _'mad Mags'_ on the corner. You marched right up to them and told them if they didn't clear out then and there you'd go to the cops. After they ran off, you checked in on Mrs. Maggie Brown and saw that one of the rocks had hit her bad on the side of the head, knocked her unconscious, bleeding bad. It was only you running all the way to the doc's nine blocks over that saved her from probably bleeding out or dying of an infection. True or false?" He ran a hand over Steve's chest, thumbing at his nipples while he waited for an answer.

"T-true. Wasn't like I got to the doctor's _fast_ though Buck, had to keep stopping with the damn asthma-" Steve stuttered out then yelped, cut off abruptly, when Bucky interrupted him with a sharp pinch to the nipple he'd been rubbing at.

"Didn't ask that, Stevie." Bucky looked disapprovingly at him before speaking once more in a low, determined voice.

"Last month, when Dum Dum got too ahead of himself and ended up surrounded by German's before we'd reached his checkpoint- who sprinted ahead, disregarding the original plan to circle around before coming back to Dugan, and took out near enough the entire squadron because Dugan was already hit and shootin' blindly from behind a tree?"

"I did." Steve said meekly. Squirming at the heroic way Bucky retold the stories.

Bucky nodded, approvingly it seemed, and translated his approval into running a hand further down Steve's torso until it cupped Steve's hip, every now and then dancing his fingers along the edges of Steve's pants.

It went on like this for a bit, Bucky describing past missions of the war, some long past, some still fresh in Steve's mind, and some he didn't even remember. Every time Steve confirmed the memory to be true, to acknowledge his apparent help to the missions, Bucky would explore another part of his exposed body. He'd undone the buttons on Steve's trousers at one point, pausing to look at Steve in askance, waiting until he had nodded desperately in answer to slide them off.

Now, Bucky tensed up a little before starting his next mission report, and Steve felt suddenly very alert from his overwhelmed state, coasting on the wave of memories Bucky brought rushing back.

"Just over a year ago, in Italy..." Bucky swallowed but set his jaw determinedly, "You broke into a large enemy base, where hundreds of men were held prisoner."

Steve trembled.

"You went in alone against an impossible number of Hydra agents, including their butt-ugly leader," Bucky smiled a little and Steve could hardly believe how, "and you saved near enough every single allied soldier, including me." Bucky was looking at Steve with something akin to reverence on his face and Steve felt like he was burning.

"True or false." Bucky asked, with all the feel of a gun's safety clicking off.

Steve had to swallow hard a couple of times, the word lodged in his throat somewhere.

"True." he choked it out and it was swiftly followed by a rush of tears.

He felt like Bucky was pulling him out from that dark corner all over again, pushing him onto an empty stage with a spotlight on him. He felt like he was stood in front of a jury, being weighed up and judged by his efforts. Strangely, he felt like he was both the defendant and judge in that scenario. Bucky and the whole world could be the jury, but in the end, Steve was the one to look over his life and find himself wanting.

"True." Bucky repeated and wiped the hot splashes of salty tears from Steve's cheeks.

Steve shook his head in anger, confusion. Sure, when Bucky put it like that it sounded like a lot. But it was just pulling the leaves of a weed. The roots of Hydra seemed too far beyond reach to pull out. And until Steve managed to do that, to eradicate the source and help end this war, it felt like everything he was doing was fruitless. For every one person he saved, two more suffered.

"S'not enough, Buck." Steve sobbed out, feeling pathetic, trying to get Bucky to understand. Feeling like a poor excuse for a soldier for not feeling like it's enough in the first place.

"It doesn't have to be, for tonight, you can feel like shit. You can be angry, and frustrated, and _sad_. But when we leave here tomorrow, and in most of the days to come, you've got to manage it in your own mind, Stevie, or it's gonna kill you, one way or another." Bucky whispered.

"I want to sleep." Steve said helplessly. "But all I can see when I close my eyes is their faces. That field filled up with families, and everyone else. Dum Dum, Jones, Morita, Falsworth, Dernier, Colonel Phillips, Peggy, god forbid, and _you_."

"It's not real, Steve. I'm here, Peggy sure as hell isn't going anywhere for a while, that woman's got a fire in her that's gonna burn for decades... I can't take away the memories from today," Bucky looked apologetic, "but I can try and replace them with better ones. _We_ can make better ones."

Steve scrunched his eyes closed at the words, wanting so badly to believe Bucky could help take it all away. He pulled Bucky down so that the older man rested lightly on top of Steve, the weight of his body like a warm blanket on Steve's shuddering body. This time, it was Steve who tentatively initiated the kiss, leaning up to meet Bucky in a warm press of lips. Bucky's right hand moved from where it had rested on Steve's hip to run along his ribs, just visible where Steve's body was stretched taught as a bowstring.

Steve's hands took a while to settle on any one spot; now that they'd been given the chance to touch Bucky freely, they couldn't seem to decide where to explore first. Eventually, the sweep of Bucky's fringe caught Steve's attention, and one of his hands wove its way into the thick strands, gripping tightly. Bucky groaned at the pull and attacked Steve's lips with new fervour.

Steve's blood felt like it was fizzing in his veins just at having Bucky this close, let alone knowing he could get the brunette to react the way he was. The attention was still alien to Steve, as it wasn't that long ago that he'd gone from a body that no one wanted nor found desirable, to a body that everyone suddenly wanted a piece of, one way or another. The army wanted the medical secrets it held, the USO tour managers wanted its aesthetic appeal, women's eyes tracked him now, and men watched with varying expressions of awe, caution and jealousy over the strength he held. A small part of Steve worried over whether it was just the body that enabled Bucky to want him, finally. But it was aggressively squashed down by the other part of Steve that hero-worshipped Bucky as a child, loved him entirely as a man, and knew that Bucky wasn't like that.

Once, Bucky had managed to get a date with a girl known for being the 'town beauty' as it were. But when the date came around, she spent the entire evening ignoring Steve, and talked only to Bucky or the poor girl sitting awkwardly next to Steve. Whenever Bucky tried to bring the conversation back around to include Steve, the only comments she directed towards him were thinly veiled digs at Steve's size, and how he was holding Bucky back. Bucky had lost the smug twinkle in his eye at being seen with her only an hour into the date. The best part of the night though was when, despite her leaning in to  Bucky for a goodnight kiss, he just patted her cheerfully on the arm, walking away with his arm slung over Steve's shoulders and talking about everything except the date. It had managed to heal at least a little of Steve's freshly bruised confidence.

The point is, Bucky doesn't surround him with pretty things or people, if they hold no value emotionally to him. He sheds acquaintance with anyone who doesn't reach his high bar that is what a friend is. It meant he had fewer friends than perhaps some people, but the ones he kept were the most loyal friends you could hope for. Back in Brooklyn there had only really been Steve, and Bucky's two friends from the docks, Ricky and Peter, or at least, they were the only ones Steve had met.

"I can hear your brain whirring, Stevie. Clearly I'm not doing a good enough job. You're bruisin' my ego here." Bucky kissed the words into the side of Steve's neck, biting down on a spot that would be hidden by the collar, chuckling darkly when Steve gasped at the pleasure-pain.

"Bucky, please..." Steve groaned, not even sure what it was he was asking for.

"I gotcha." Bucky pressed one last kiss to Steve's mouth, slack with pleasure, before sliding down his toned body, the sheets pulling away as he did, until his face was level with Steve's crotch. His underwear was tented obscenely and Steve sat up a little, resting on his elbows, watching Bucky like a snake caught up in the charmed flute of its owner.

Bucky held his gaze even as he pulled the last barrier between Steve and total vulnerability. Throwing them lightly to the side, he wrapped his hand around the base of Steve's dick, all the while keeping eye contact with him. Steve gave a full body shudder and fought the spasms in his abdomen and thigh muscles caused by the lance of pleasure that simple touch evoked.

It was only when Bucky growled, voice thick with arousal, " _Look at me, Steve_.", that Steve realised he'd scrunched his eyes shut. They flew open at Bucky's order and then his breathing kicked up a notch when he realised what it was Bucky was about to do. Before he could blink, Bucky tilted his head down and took just a few inches of his length into his mouth, sucking at the tip, tongue tracing the leaking slit. The blonde's elbows trembled harder before giving out entirely, and he fell back onto the pillow with a stifled cry of Bucky's name.

"Bucky, Buck... oh God..." he rambled, dazed at the hot, wet feeling of Bucky's mouth moving slowly further and further down his cock until he was halfway. At that point, he began to move his head up and down, sucking harder on the upward motion and drawing lines with his tongue on the way down.

One of Steve's hands were gripping Bucky's shoulder, unsure whether he wanted to push him away because _toomuchohgodtoogood,_ or pull him closer because _toogoodneedmorelovehim._

Steve's other hand sought for purchase against something else that wasn't Bucky, because the man already seemed to fill his entire range of senses. His eyes branded with the image of Bucky's predatory, hungry gaze; his ears filled with the sound of Bucky's quiet sucking, the wet sound when he hollowed his cheeks; his nose flooded with both their scents, Bucky's sweat and Steve's, the sharp tang of gunpowder they couldn't shake, the musky smell of sex that Steve had only ever had a tiny taste of before during rare moments alone, frustrated in their Brooklyn apartment. Above all, Bucky's touch seemed to cover Steve. He only had a grip on Steve's hips, hands keeping Steve firmly in place, but Steve could swear he felt the brush of Bucky's fingers over the rest of his skin like a phantom touch.

Steve managed to find the corner of the sheet, the soft cotton feel grounding him against the rub of Bucky's calloused fingers on his hipbones and the drag of his tongue on the underside of Steve's dick. He pulled the sheet up closer, thankful all over for Marie's kindn-

Marie. The house. The _town_.

It all came flooding back to Steve with the force of a freight train. Steve felt shame run in icy tendrils through his veins and he must have made some sort of sound because he felt Bucky pull off his length with an abruptness that Steve's hindbrain lamented.

"Steve? What's wrong? Tell me where your head's goin' sweetheart."

 "Marie's house." Steve managed to push out through a grimace. Bucky had moved back up the bed and cradled Steve's jaw in one hand.

"This is her house, her home she had with her husband, and she'll never have this again... they slept here, _together_ , and now they're... they're not- they're-" Steve felt the threat of hysteria at the thought of finding happiness in Bucky's body and soul in this place where someone else's heart laid broken after the death of her husband.

"Gone." Bucky mumbled, and somehow, through the fog of guilt and fresh grief that had latched on to Steve's mind again, Bucky's calm rumble of a voice and the scratch of his fingers running through the long hair of Steve's fringe, Steve managed to focus back in on the room. He fought to push the images of turned dirt and charred bodies, men bleeding out under Steve's useless hands, from the front of his mind.

"All gone." Steve repeated and felt frozen beneath Bucky's heated skin.

"No, not all gone, Steve. Come on, try and _remember_ , pick your battles, Steve." Bucky turned Steve's head to look him in the eye. "Marie won't lie here with her husband ever again, but that doesn't mean she doesn't still have his love. She lost the one she loved, that doesn't mean you have to give up yours too."

Steve blinked furiously against the tears that gathered in his eyes.

 "She didn't have a choice in letting him go. We do. I don't know about you but I don't ever want to let you out of my sight again. You're who I'm fightin' for, Stevie, always were, always will be."

Bucky's gaze was ferocious in its intensity.

"You deserve happiness, Steve. For once, be selfish. Don't walk away from this because of your guilt... You can't save everyone, no matter what serum pumps in your blood." Bucky's words were like a sharp slap, shifting Steve's entire mental ground made up of survivor's guilt, insecurity, self-doubt and righteous fury. 

"You're the only thing I ever wanted, Buck." Steve said hoarsely. "I want you, I do. If you ever left, I don't know what... Just don't leave me, please... give me something I can't forget, not ever. A memory this hell can't touch."

Bucky looked a little distressed at Steve's begging, the weight of a promise like that, to stay with Steve in a place as dangerous as this, was one that held the weight of the world and fate itself.

"I swear, I'll never leave you willingly, Stevie. We're going to drag each other out of each and every day. You and me, together. To the end of the line. Right?"

Steve wanted to cry at Bucky's altered promise, at the thought that Bucky's survival was something not even Steve could guarantee, but he held on to their one promise that held true no matter what they faced.

"To the end of the line." Steve affirmed, eyes wet, and reached up when a lone tear escaped Bucky's own eyes.

"Want all of you, Buck, please... I mean- only if you want, I don't-"

Bucky groaned, "You kidding, Steve? You really have no idea do you? You drive me crazy, have done since I was fifteen and realised I'd rather be at home, reading to your scrawny ass laid up with a fever, than out dancing with all five foot seven of Alison Gardner and her legendary legs." Steve blushed a little at Bucky's renewed, heated look.

"Shuddup." He replied lamely and Bucky grinned down at him.

"Your comebacks are getting sloppy."

"I'll give you sloppy." Steve grumbled half-heartedly, and pulled Bucky down for a kiss that quickly grew breathless and impassioned in the light of their promises and the very real case of their mortality.

Bucky sucked at Steve's bottom lip while Steve moved his legs up to pull Bucky closer, encased within his thighs. Bucky certainly didn't seem to mind, and ran his hand along Steve's knee, up his outer thigh, then tickled the sharp-cut line of the 'v' of his navel. He kept it hovered there while Steve squirmed and shifted his hips, needing more friction.

"You want something, Stevie?" Bucky asked innocently. The expression would have been more convincing if he hadn't had Steve's dick down his throat ten minutes ago.

"Told you, Buck, want it all, please. Want you, first and always. Like you said, take every moment with each other." Bucky jerked back at Steve's admission, eyes wide, watching as Steve glared back, daring him to say something. Steve didn't know _how_ Bucky could be surprised, it wasn't like any of his 'greatly planned' double dates ever panned out, and even if they _did,_ Steve wasn't ever really interested in being with a woman that close. He loved a certain idiot instead.

"That's..." Bucky swallowed, "you sure?"

Steve just nodded once, eyes ablaze.

"Okay... okay, Steve. But you gotta tell me if you want to stop, okay?" Bucky recovered from his shock and leant over the side of bed, reaching into his trousers?

When he pulled himself back up on the bed, humming triumphantly, Steve blushed again in realisation. It was a tiny tin of Vaseline. The Howlies had each gotten one last time they were at an allied base camp, unsure of when they'd be back. It was a godsend for cuts, burns and other open wounds- it was sterile and kept the scratchy gauze they had to use from aggravating the healing skin. What Bucky had in mind for it was more than a little out of its usual military use.

Steve had only the basic knowledge of how sex with men was, or worked, and all of it from mostly negative, crude comments thrown his way, or the drunken, raucous  conversations of dock workers on the occasions when he'd gone with Bucky to pub near his workplace. But he knew enough to know what Bucky intended.

As expected, Bucky unscrewed the tin and began to coat his fingers generously- far too generously- with the jelly, and Steve reached out a hand to his wrist, stopping him.

"You don't need so much, Buck, that stuff's important." Steve frowned, practicality winning out.

Bucky frowned right back. "You're more important. I don't want to hurt you."

Steve ignored his heart swooning happily at that blasé comment, when they both knew Vaseline was like gold dust in a warzone. "I can take a little pain, Bucky, I'm strong enough to take a little hurt now."

Bucky's frown only deepened and he looked a little frustrated at Steve's lack of concern for his own comfort, so he added, before Bucky could argue, "A little pain is worth doing this with you. It's worth it a hundred times over. Trust me?" Steve implored, aware he was staring at Bucky with what the brunette called his 'secret weapon': baby blues widened and earnest.

"God dammit..." Bucky muttered and looked away, debating with himself. Steve fancied his chances. "Fine... but I swear, if it's too much, you _tell_ me. Capiche?"

Steve grinned widely, kissing Bucky once square on the lips. "You got it. Now come on before it dries."

Bucky sighed though it was blatantly just for show. With his non-slicked hand, he pulled Steve's right thigh up to rest over his shoulder and nudged the other open a little wider with his shoulder. Steve's body was humming with anticipation by the time Bucky ran a finger lightly over the inside of his thigh and held it against Steve's entrance, only pushing in when Steve nodded encouragingly.

It was... strange. There was no pain, only a slight feeling of discomfort at the unusual feeling. But as Bucky pulled his finger in and out slowly, curving it every now and then a little just at the rim, Steve slowly got used to the intrusion.

Bucky looked like he'd try and carry on just with that one for ages, so Steve demanded firmly, if a little breathily, "Another, m' good, Buck."

Bucky hummed and hesitated only slightly before adding a second finger, pushing in slower as Steve clenched against the now bigger push inside him. He tried not to show the sharper sting of pain that came with two fingers, and instead just sucked in a breath, gaze focused on Bucky's.

Bucky was watching Steve's every movement like a hawk though as he pulled his fingers out and back in, scissoring them after a few moments. Whatever he saw must have been acceptable to him, because his rhythm didn't falter, didn't stop, and his eyes darkened, mouth hung open slightly at the small moans Steve was making once the drag of Bucky's fingers became comfortable once more.

"We're gonna try three, Stevie, okay?" Bucky asked, biting his lower lip and betraying his worry.

"Yeah." Steve gasped out and prepared himself for another wave of momentary discomfort.

When Bucky pulled his two fingers out though and returned with three though, the pain was definitely there. A sharp sting as muscles protested the stretch. His rim burned with the pull and Steve could feel himself grimace, a small grunt escaped his clenched jaw. Bucky's eyes snapped back to his whip-fast, and he began to withdraw his fingers. Steve panicked and used his thighs to bring Bucky closer into him, ankles crossed behind the shorter man's back.

"No!" he cried out, "No, keep going, please, Bucky, it's okay.  It's not that bad."

Bucky grimaced. "Still a stubborn little punk, Rogers." he grumbled and leant down to kiss gently at Steve's face to distract him while his fingers started moving inside him again, slowly.

While Steve tried to keep his body relaxed, Bucky helped out by sucking one of the blonde's nipples, smug mouth grinning when he heard the great Captain America reduced to a keening, writhing mess.

After what seemed forever, seeing as Bucky kept ignoring Steve's claims that he was ready, they finally moved on to more than just Bucky's fingers. Steve watched as he sat back for just a moment to pull his pants away from his hips, down, down,  until they could be hooked out from under his knees and discarded with the rest of his clothes.

Well... shit. Steve was a brave man, and he wanted this with every fibre of his being, but he still found himself intimidated by Bucky's generous length, where it jutted out between the delicious thickness of his thighs. It was flushed a dark red and leaking so that it seemed to look almost painful how hard it was. And that was supposed to go inside him? Steve huffed out a breath and his expression must have betrayed some of his awe and alarm because Bucky chuckled darkly, settling back between Steve's thighs.

"We can stop, Stevie." he crooned, nuzzling at Steve's jaw and his hand wandering down, teasing along Steve's length.

"There's plenty to do without that. I could-"

"Shutup, Barnes. Waited long enough you jer- agh!" Steve cried out in pleasure when Bucky thrust his hips against Steve's, their dick's sliding alongside each other in a too-good press of flesh.

"What was that, Stevie?" he drawled, grinning smugly. Steve glared and bucked his own hips up in retaliation, smiling in vindication at Bucky's choked-off groan of surprise.

"You little-" Bucky stared at him, wide-eyed, enjoying every minute of surprise at Steve's pushiness in bed. It was unknown territory, one that Bucky hoped he'd wander forever.

"C'mon, Buck, want you now." Steve murmured and wrapped one hand around Bucky's torso to grip at his shoulder.

"You tell me..." Bucky reminded him for the last time before he gripped the base of his dick, lining it up with Steve's slicked hole. Bucky had lathered the remaining jelly on his hand all over his shaft, but pushing into Steve still felt like pushing into an impossible space.

Steve couldn't help the cry that left his lips as the head of Bucky's dick pushed insistently against his rim. That initial burn was the worst, though it was still only slightly lessened when the tip was all the way in, leaving only the smooth slide of the remaining length. Bucky leant down and pressed kisses against Steve's panting mouth, mumbling apologies and endearments and other unintelligible things into the skin of his face: the apple of his cheeks, his forehead, the corner of his eye.

He realised after a minute or two that Bucky wasn't moving anymore, and figured out he was probably waiting for Steve to tell him to go. Steve could feel small shudders run through the other man, and a low moan when Steve tested his comfort by clenching just a little around Bucky. The pain had faded away to a slight burn that... wasn't entirely unpleasant, and so Steve whispered for Bucky to push the rest of the way in. Bucky nodded, breathing faster himself now, and pushed his hips forward excruciatingly slowly. Steve knew it was for the best though, so he held his impatience at bay, not wanting Bucky to regret this later.

Finally, Bucky gave one last thrust and his hips were flush against Steve's, hand stroking along Steve's flank and looking at him with an expression of reverence that made Steve squirm.

"You okay?" Bucky's voice was so hoarse it was barely recognisable. Steve shivered.

"I'm great, Buck." Steve said, honestly.

Bucky smiled crookedly at Steve in the way that seemed reserved just for quiet moments between the two. It wasn't like his impish, toothy grin, or his roguish smile he kept just for the ladies of Brooklyn. It was Steve's.

Bucky leant down for a heated kiss, licking into Steve's mouth as he began a steady rhythm, hips pulling away and snapping back, but with a slightly noticeable feeling of restraint. He was holding back.

Steve allowed it for a few moments, enjoying the measured thrusts as he kissed Bucky. But, eventually, he grew greedy enough to want every inch of Bucky, every last bit of strength he could wield, Steve wanted. He wanted it all. And he finally felt like he could have it.

So Steve pulled his thighs back even closer to his chest and on Bucky's next thrust forward, he canted his hips up to meet him halfway.

"Steve!" Bucky groaned around his name and the blonde gleefully squirrelled the sound away in the safety of his mind, revelling in the effect he had on him.

"Harder, Buck, please?" Steve got out between deep breaths. Bucky didn't answer, just latched onto the smooth skin of Steve's pec and bit another mark into the map of his body. He pulled out gently all the way to the tip, and Steve thought he was going to ignore him and carry on at a gentle pace.

That was until Bucky rammed his length back into Steve so hard that he pushed them a few inches back up the mattress. Steve cried out in ecstasy as the particularly deep thrust pressed against something inside him. Steve didn't know what the hell it was, but it sparked like fire, sending off a thousand pinpricks of pleasure through his body when the head of Bucky's cock nudged against it.

Bucky just smiled hungrily at Steve and began to piston his hips into Steve with a vigour that had Steve crying out and gasping with every thrust. When Bucky rested his forehead against Steve's, eyes shut tight, and told Steve how good he felt, how _right_ this was, how he's so glad Steve didn't send him away from that broken house... Steve felt the fears and grief that had plagued him battering away at the edges of his mind. He briefly thought of how Marie must have felt as he did at this moment, once upon a time. Safe, secure, loved in someone else's arms. And now she was alone.

 _No_. Steve hissed internally to himself. _Not alone._ She has the villagers- it didn't compare, but it would be enough to pull her through. Bleeding, and heartbroken, but continuing.

Steve wondered if he'd be able to do that. He felt Bucky's hand cup his jaw as he continued to drive his length into Steve with every bit of himself he had to give, and Steve wondered- if he did lose Bucky, would he be able to carry on for the sake of the Howlies? Would it be enough for him? He didn't think he wanted to know. It was easy to speculate, but he'd rather not when right now he was blessed to still have everything Marie and countless others had lost.

Steve grabbed at Bucky's shoulder harder, fingers lining the edge of the bone shifting beneath his skin, while the other hand reached out to the small of his back. Steve could feel the familiar wave of arousal building behind his navel, but it felt ten times as strong, it felt like a tsunami that would crash over him and reshape the landscape of his entire world. He'd come before, countless times, but it was different when it was like this. So close, with the other half of your soul.

Bucky prodded that spot inside him yet again and Steve keened, clenching spasmodically around Bucky's length.

"Bucky, I'm getting close."

"Me too, Steve. You're so goddamn beautiful, you know that? An' stronger than anyone I know..." Bucky groaned at the tight feeling of Steve's body wrapped around him, the warmth that encased his dick on every thrust.

Steve batted at his shoulder ineffectually, "Quit it, Barnes." his blush made Bucky huff out a breathless laugh and press kisses to the spread of pink on Steve's skin.

Their rhythm grew sloppy, Bucky's thrusts became more erratic, stuttering, and he occasionally didn't even pull out, just ground his hips against Steve's to enjoy the delicious friction of skin on skin. Their bodies were slick with a light sheen of sweat and Steve reached down to get some much-needed friction against his own cock. Bucky's abdomen had been brushing maddeningly along it on every thrust, but Steve wanted the extra push as he fell blissfully over the edge of his climax.

He barely got near it though before Bucky swatted his hand away and gripped his shaft in a snug fist himself. Steve let out a slightly strangled sound and arched up sharply into the hold. Bucky's hand was just the right side of rough and Steve was almost sobbing with how good it felt- too good almost, with Bucky pressing hard inside him as well as wrapped tightly against his frustrated-looking arousal on the outside.

"Buck... now... I'm..."

Bucky flicked his wrist in a practised manner and rubbed over the head of Steve's dickin such a way that it finally pulled Steve over the edge, into a wave of pleasure that crashed through him. His body arched up as he shot his load across Bucky's fist and halfway up his own chest. His body clenched down automatically and Bucky emitted a grunt of pleasure, screwing into Steve hard, just a few times more before his hips stuttered against Steve's, pressing in deep as Steve's insides were painted with warmth.

He thrust shallowly a bare couple of times before stilling completely, forehead still pressed against Steve's while his hand squeezed seemingly unknowingly at the blonde's ass. They lay like that, gulping in deep breaths. Steve didn't know how long had passed, but he could see the slow drip of the candles, their thin bodies three-quarter's burned through.

"Bucky." Steve whispered.

"Yeah, Stevie?"

"I think I'm ready to sleep now."

A laugh rumbled low through Bucky's chest and he pressed a light kiss to Steve's temple.

"You're impossible, Rogers."

**************************

 

Bucky had retrieved some tissues from somewhere, and cleaned Steve up as best he could before getting beneath the sheets once more, wrapping his arms tightly but comfortably around the blonde, holding him close. Steve smiled and decided he didn't mind so much. He didn't mind Bucky seeing his weaknesses, his vulnerabilities.

His heart still felt heavy. He felt the ghosts of his bloody past in the war calling to him in the darker parts of his mind. Hell, Steve had shed another load of tears after Bucky had pulled out, left him feeling empty and sore, as he realised he and Bucky were the last souls this once-home would see for a while. He still felt the guilt that he gained this piece of happiness while others suffered its loss, but the difference was that now he had Bucky.

Bucky had taught him that grief can't last forever. Memories, good memories-  _love-_ lasts forever. Grief will fade into a manageable shroud in selective corners of the mind if you only have the courage to face it and control it. And he'd finally figured out the man pressed warmly against his back _was_ his control. Everyone else relied on Captain America, but the man beneath- Steve Rogers- had to rely on someone else sometime, he knew that now. He still didn't _like_ it, but he knew Bucky would be there to drag him back up on the rare occasions he felt too tired to do it alone. Because that's just it, he wasn't alone. Never was, but it was complete now with this new, wonderful love he shared with the man holding him tightly now.

Just as Steve was summoning the courage to say one last thing to Bucky, the brunette beat him to the punch, _again_.

"Love you, Steve." he mumbled against the nape of Steve's neck, and the words lit up his heart like its own flame, warding against the shadows from the inside out.

"I love you, Bucky." Steve whispered back, curling up further into Bucky's chest, praying to every possible higher being- God, fate, karma- that this man stayed safe.

He knew what it was to be afraid, but he also knew what it was to love with a brilliance that turned the world gold.

He had Bucky.

And they would walk hand in hand to whatever end, together.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Man, I need a beta reader.
> 
> Fun fact no one asked for: The uses of vaseline in the World Wars is true. They even have some history of it on their website.
> 
> Fun fact no one asked for part deux: 'Avoir une peur bleue' is a legitimate French idiom that translates literally into having a blue fear, i.e., to be terrified. The English version would probably be the saying 'scared stiff'. I had to throw it in because French idioms are hilarious and even more awesome than ours (our saying 'raining cats and dogs'? Yeah, they have it- but their's translates to 'raining like a pissing cow')
> 
> Kudos and comments on what you liked/hated/want to see more of/ potentially want to see Bucky and Steve face next are welcomed and are the fuel to my magical finger-typing-jetpacks.
> 
> As promised, a list of just some of the songs that I couldn't have wrote this without, thanks for the angsty feels o woeful artists:  
> Hold my Hand- The Fray  
> Hex- Mt Wolf  
> Heal- Tom Odell  
> I gave it all- Aquilo  
> When you break- Bear's Den  
> I hurt too- Katie Herzig  
> 


End file.
